


Inappropriate

by aluinihi



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Ed is 18/20 yo, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 12:02:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19295341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aluinihi/pseuds/aluinihi
Summary: “Edward,” he slurs contently, “you came back for me!”And that’s when the stench of alcohol hits him.





	Inappropriate

**Author's Note:**

> Acknowledging canon does not mean I use it, but this definitely post-canon. Some canon.
> 
> Beta by my bromate [vampiricalthorns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiricalthorns/works)!
> 
> English is not my native language, I apologize for any mistakes!

Ten is not late night and definitely an inappropriate time to be found half-passed out on a couch, but Edward is not brave enough to point that out. Mustang’s eyelids flutter open and, when he focuses on the blond standing at the door, he smiles so wide and radiant Ed reckons it might as well be sunrise already.

“ _Edward,_ ” he slurs contently, “you came back for me!”

And that’s when the stench of alcohol hits him.

“Not really.” Edward scrunches up his nose. “I’m here for my coat actually, you just happen to be in the same room.”

However, he must admit it is not a completely undesired addition to his trip back to headquarters. This is _Roy Mustang_ — laying down on the office’s couch with an arm behind his head and the other lazily draped over his stomach, as if all his daily pose was nothing but, well, a _pose_. Edward can almost enjoy his time out of the _Friday night with the team_ bullshit.

“If you were going to drink, why didn’t you come with us?”

There’s a clear switch in the man’s expression, so quick that Ed wonders if he has just pressed the wrong button. Roy doesn’t answer; instead, he simply stares at the blond with his brows furrowed together as if he is trying to remember his reasoning from earlier. Ed only knows what he’s told everyone — _tired and going straight back home_ and at least one of those an unmistakable lie. Roy doesn’t answer, but Ed figures there are different types of drinking.

He walks up to the couch and crouches to stand face to face with the man. Roy’s smile reappears, quelching the worry that gnawed on his heart.

“You should go home,” he says, “it’s kinda late and you shouldn’t sleep at _work_ , for fuck’s sake.”

“ ‘m not sleeping.”

“You _are_ , just not here.” Ed taps his upper-arm in some awkward sort of encouragement. “C’ mon, I’m gonna take you home.”

Roy laughs at him, shaking his head as if he had just heard a good joke. “No.”

“Didn’t you say you were tired? Home is good for sleeping.”

“ _No._ ”

Ed sighs, “why not?”

The way Roy moves is too fast for someone in his condition and too abrupt for Ed to react accordingly — not that he would be able to find a way to react accordingly even if he was given time. Roy throws his arms around his neck out of absolutely nowhere. Ed loses his balance and lurches forward, both of his knees hitting the carpeted floor with a muted thud. Wincing at the impact, the blond places his hands on the cushions, doing his best to adapt his position to the awkward hug and— 

_Fuck._ Mustang is _hugging_ him.

Realization comes as delicately as a kick to the guts and Ed breathes in deeply. Which is. Not a good idea. Roy stinks of cheap booze and his clothes always smell like an ashtray, but beneath those is _that_ , a mix of rainy afternoons and reading a book by the window and it’s _good_. He doesn’t dare to move, out of both fear and excitement. Perhaps the years-long infatuation — _Mustang Mustang Mustang_ — shouldn’t be allowed to sigh so close to Ed’s ears without clear, explicit permission — which he would never, ever give.

Mustang presses his face to the side of Edward’s neck and the blond can feel him smiling, “because I want to be with _you_.”

And Ed lets out the most ridiculous, strangled noise. And his shoulders shake so much he is afraid Roy will move away.

“ _What the fuck_ ,” he whispers.

“I want to be with you! I always do.”

It must be a joke. Mustang knows better than to play with Ed’s feelings — deep down, Ed is _sure_ of that — but on his tongue, there is the taste of lingering doubt. At any point now the bastard will laugh, make some smartass comments, and transfer Ed to the other side of the country — he _wouldn’t_. “I don’t think you even know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course I do,” the man lets go only a tiny bit, enough to allow him to look Edward in the eyes but also leaving their faces too close for the blond’s dismay, “I know my feelings! I have lots of those so I have to think about them sometimes.”

Ed snorts, “I’m glad you do the bare minimum to be a functional human being.”

“What…?”

“Nothing.” He tries to push Mustang with no success, “I just think you should shut up for a bit.”

“Oh, Edward, you are so sweet,” he smiles that same dopey smile that makes Ed want to look away, “you worry about others, you even came back for me!”

“I already told you I didn’t come here for— _fuck it_ , please stand up so I can drag your ass home, idiot.”

To his bewilderment, the man does move this time — and although it demands some (a lot) of help from Edward, he manages to sit down then slowly stand upright. Ed doesn’t trust him enough to completely let go though, so he hooks one of Mustang’s arms around his own shoulders and carefully supports him with his torso. Those dark eyes have this mischievous glimmer and Ed wishes he had told him to shut the fuck up in time.

“Did you notice we’re the same height now.” It’s phrased like a question but doesn’t sound like one. Edward rolls his eyes as Roy smiles at him because, in the end, that’s the most acceptable reaction.

“ _Shut up."_

The man laughs, “I thought you would take it as a compliment.”

Worst it, he did — his cheeks have been successfully heated up to boiling temperature; Ed can probably fry an egg on them. “ _Mustang…_ ”

The more he tries to ignore the fact that they haven’t moved an inch since Roy got up from the couch, the more obvious it is that the man wants to turn his innocent act as a human clutch into _another hug_.

“What?” Mustang _chuckles_ , “I think it makes being next to you even more pleasant. Not that I would have minded if you had stayed the same height as befo—”

“If you value your life, you better shut up _now_.”

Roy finally agrees to take a step towards the door, but Ed’s relief is short-lived. “I just think it’s hot, I mean, you are not short anymore _and_ you’re strong, that’s so unfair.”

Edward takes a deep breath, reciting again and again in his head all the curses he has learned in his time in Amestris and abroad, because there is only so much a man can take before throwing another out of a window. Mustang is _shitfaced_ , Ed has no idea how it got to this point and he is not about to start putting up with this amount of bullshit.

“Cut it out, dickhead, those jokes are just mean.”

Roy’s head tilts childishly, a few strands of black hair fall over his eyes and Ed wouldn’t be able to stop himself from brushing them aside if he wasn’t too busy holding the asshole up to drag him out of here.

“I’m not mean,” he says, “ _you_ are.”

“I didn’t say you are mean, I said the joke is mean.” Edward has to unhook himself from their hold to get both their coats and, most of all, help Roy put his on. “And what are you calling me mean for? What the hell did I do?”

Mustang points his finger to Ed’s face as if he is in a position to scold someone. “You, Edward Elric, are the meanest person I’ve ever met.”

“You were calling me _sweet_ less than five minutes ago!”

The man lets out an indignant sound and some protests that are too slurred for Ed to understand. It takes a few attempts to get him to cooperate on the task of shoving his arms _inside_ the coat sleeves and, afterward, Ed struggles to convince him to keep it on. _It’s not even cold! And even if it is I like the cold!_ and all he can think of is those times Hawkeye pressed her temples and complained about how General Mustang and Fullmetal are both terribly stubborn.

Mustang throws his weight on the wall behind him and Ed is _this close_ to simply leaving him to his own luck. “C’mon, Colonel Shit, we just gotta get to your house...”

“ _No._ ”

“For fuck’s sake—”

“If we go then you’ll leave!”

Edward doesn’t get it, and although he really wants to understand this sudden attachment to his person, he also knows he won’t get a good, well-developed answer from a man who is not able to carry his own weight across a room. In fact, this is Roy Mustang — even when he is sober, Ed never manages to get him to _answer_.

“I’m— I won’t leave, Roy, just _please_ let’s—”

A pair of hands grip his lapels and pulls, and for a few seconds panic knocks Ed senseless — then a few fantasies play out in his mind, those stupid teenager dreams he used to have before he grew more resigned. He finds himself between those two options, once again with Mustang’s arms around his shoulders but this time they are both standing and there is no _knee-pain-awkward-crouching_ , hence Edward can simply enjoy an embrace.

And he does. He fits his hands in the space between Roy’s back and the wall, places his palms over the clothed muscles and presses in, tugging the other even closer. It could be disappointing to have only a hug, yes, but he can feel the entirety of the other’s body against his, all the warmth and each small movement. A single intake of breath drowns him in a mix of alcohol and the remnants of a fancy cologne that Ed should despise, but together with the faint smell of a human he somewhat cares about it is just — very _pleasant_. Mustang is sighing, letting out satisfied hums, and Ed wants to melt. Melt, melt, melt.

His chest is tightening with this tiny sense of victory — or hope, sometimes he has a hard time telling those apart. He wants to pull away and say something, but he is not sure what or how, and he is painfully aware that even if he chooses his words carefully, he won’t be able to express himself clearly. Mustang is better at the talking thing, maybe when he is more conscious he can do his magic and solve the problem, whatever it is.

“Call me ‘Roy’ again,” he demands.

“Uh, Roy.” Ed clears his throat, “I should probably ask you on a date tomorrow.”

“Oh, only tomorrow?” Mustang whispers, “then you should probably kiss me today.”

And Ed is very careful to keep a safe distance between their faces when he pulls away.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you a lot for reading! I hope this is worth some validation?
> 
> And here goes [twitter](https://twitter.com/aluinihi) and [tumblr](https://aluinihi.tumblr.com).


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